Spencers
by vennat
Summary: Spencer Reid confuses Shawn Spencer with the famous author who wrote one of the best books he's ever read. Or does he?


"Mr. Spencer!" A woman's voice called angrily across the station. Reid immediately turned around, reacting to his first name. Before he could reply, another man practically skipped past him. He had another darker skinned man following along behind him, muttering darkly about how they should have just left Lassiter alone, like I said. The man that had skipped past him came to a skidding halt in front of the owner of the stern voice, smiling widely.

"What's up, Chief?" Reid paused, looking at the woman who had called in the BAU for help. She looked a bit frazzled, as most Chiefs summoning their help did.

"I told you we called in different consultants for this case. From the FBI." Reid chose not to say anything, preferring- for now- to go largely unnoticed, though his interest was piqued. But luck, it appears, was not on his side. The Chief gestured to where he was standing awkwardly, and the man in front of her turned to where she was gesturing, a light pout on his lips.

Immediately, it clicked in Reid's head. His eyes widened to a likely-comical size. He opened his mouth, a flurry of excited comments on the tip of his tongue, directed towards the man standing in front of him. Before he could say anything, the man stepped forward, extending a hand towards Reid in greeting. Reid, still slack jawed, grasped it and shook vigorously. The man smiled at him, but his eyes betrayed a vague sort of fear.

"Shawn Spencer." The man in front of him stated, and then gave him an look that showed he very clearly expected him to give him his name, and ONLY his name, in return.

"Dr. Spencer Reid." the man- Shawn Spencer?- smiled at him, and before Reid could manage to pull himself together enough to ask why he hadn't introduced himself with a title much the same as his own, the darker skinned man came up and offered his own hand.

"I'm Burton Guster, it's very nice to meet you Dr. Reid." by now Reid was aware enough of himself that he waved awkwardly in response to the other man, who slowly lowered his hand in confusion.

"It's very nice to meet you Mr. Guster, Mr. Spencer. And if you wouldn't mind, Chief Vick, could I ask your consultants a couple questions about the case? See if they see anything we don't?" Reid looked to the Chief for confirmation, and upon gaining it, led the two consultants to the room that had been provided for BAU to use.

As he walked, his mind raced through possibilities to try and understand the conundrum before him. The man- who had introduced himself as Shawn Spencer- was definitely Dr. David Melendez, author of several amazing books about the use of memory in crimes- of both witnesses and those working on the cases. His picture was in the back of the books, Reid could see it as sharply in his head as if the book was in front of him. He knew that man, and it seemed that Shawn knew he knew. But he didn't want anyone else to know.

Mentally, Reid sighed, giving up on the situation for now. He opened the door in front of him, talking as he went.

"Alright guys, here's what we have so far…"

Shawn stared at the board.

Each victim was labeled and ordered methodically, everything about them written out in neat, no nonsense writing.

He turned his attention to the crime scene photos. The pictures were grisly, the men's faces coated in thick layers of borderline-garish makeup. Their throats were slashed, and their mouths were stuffed with paper. Shawn squinted at the paper and was able to make out Fid and on the , and after a few seconds of thinking, he places a finger against his temple, turning to the disheveled agent stood behind him.

" Fiddler on the Roof ?" he asked him. The other man nodded.

"Each victim has a different playbill stuffed into their mouth, and they were found propped outside of various theaters, always around a corner or in a dark enough spot that we can't see who left them there. We couldn't pull any prints from the paper, and the makeup seems to be generic makeup used by most theater companies, so no connections there. We figure he's trying to say something about a show- that he's putting on one, these men are playing a role in it- we're not quite sure what yet. We've set the Unsub to be anywhere between 25-35 years old, white, and physically fit enough to subdue another male and sustain little to no defensive wounds."

Shawn nodded, continuing in his study of the clear board in front of him, covered in pictures of the three different males. They were of varying races and ages, so he immediately ruled out the motive being sexually or racially driven.

"Unsub?" Gus asked.

"Unidentified subjective." He answered offhandedly, attention split between his train of thoughts and the room around him. His back turned, he missed the look that the FBI agent gave him. With half of an idea in his head that would go no further without his own investigation, he decided to have some fun.

"So," he said, whipping around to face the young agent. "How did a pretty young thing like you find your way into working for the FBI, at the BAU no less?" the young agent rose an eyebrow at him, but before he could reply, Gus grabbed Shawn by the shoulder and turned him around to confer with him.

"Shawn! You can't flirt with the competition! We don't get paid if they solve the case!"

"Buddy," Shawn whispered back, "they're working for the government, they're getting paid whether they solve the case or not. If we drop just enough tidbits to be helpful but don't do any actual work, we get payed, the case gets solved, and we still have time to go get cinnabons at the mall."

"You know that's right." Gus agreed after a moment of consideration, holding up his hand for a fist bump, which Shawn gladly gave. The two then turned back around, shoulder to shoulder.

"You know I could hear every word that the two of you just said, right?"

"No, you couldn't." Shawn argues. "We were whispering. That automatically means that you can't hear us. Those are the rules." The other man rolls his eyes.

"Ok. Rules. Happen to have any of those helpful tidbits of information?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"What's in it for us. Because right now, I've got tacos on the brain, and I'm not sure how helpful that is to the case."

The man's eyes seem to gleam in challenge.

"I won't tell anyone about your alter ego."

Shawn freezes next to him, which doesn't go unnoticed by Spencer. Gus, on the other hand, takes no notice.

"Alter ego? Shawn, what is he talking about?" he turns to his friend, and finds a serious expression on his face that he rarely sees and- surprisingly, a slightly vicious look of glee in his eyes, like someone has challenged his intellect (which hasn't happened since his debate with Ms. Monroe back in 10th grade over the "correct way" to write an essay- god, Gus still has nightmares about that.)

"Who did you say you were again?" his friend asks. Gus' eyes flick over to the agent, wondering if he knows what he's just gotten himself into. By the look on his face, he does.

"Dr. Spencer Reid, SSA for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI."

"Behavioral Analysis huh? I recognize your name. I've read a few of your publications. Gotta say, your piece on the Zodiac Killer was interesting."

"And I've read a few of yours. I quite liked your piece on the hidden memories in victims, and how hypnosis can help solve a case. We've used your techniques a few times over at the Bureau."

Shawn grins in a way that makes Gus uneasy, all teeth and no charm.

"Too bad I don't get paid when you use my methods, too."

"So, Dr. Melendez, what's up with the pseudonym? And the psychic act?"

"Act?" Gus interrupted, panicked despite how calm Shawn seemed to be about all this. "It's not an act."

He was promptly ignored by both parties, who now seemed to be having some sort of stare-down.

"I really do have the degrees to back up the name, I'm just not a fan of flashing them. It's a lot easier to get into where you need to be when you're underestimated."

"Can't say I've tried it."

Shawn flashed him a grin, now with less of an edge, more what Gus was used to.

"Well, Dr. Reid, I think it's time we gave you a taste of what real investigating looks like."

Spencer was in the backseat of the blueberry, texting Hotch that he was looking into a potential lead with some SBPD black and whites (by using that exact wording, he was neither lying nor omitting the truth, so no one could reprimand him later) and that he would give updates if he found something. Hotch replied quickly with a simple affirmative, and by the time he was done with that, he looked around and realized he had no idea where they were.

"Where are we going?" Shawn looked back at him as if he had asked something ridiculous.

"Tacos, of course."

"I thought we were investigating?"

"We are. Do you investigate on an empty stomach? If so, I'll send a letter to my congressman and tell them they need to do some reform on how the BAU is run."

Spencer decided to leave that bit of conversation alone, and try and confirm his suspicions instead.

"How do you do it then?"

Shawn considered for a moment, before shrugging and answering.

"Childhood trauma."

Spencer squinted his eyes at him for a moment, trying to judge what Shawn had meant by that. Gus, from his place in the driver's seat, decided to spare him the trouble.

"What Shawn means, since we've apparently decided to tell the FBI Agent about our lawbreaking, is that from a young age, his dad was training him to be a cop. He wanted Shawn to be a detective like him- but Shawn was never one to do what anyone tells him to. He's got an eidetic memory and a knack for getting himself into situations that somehow help him solve the case every time, and he's somehow managed to trick the entirety of the SBPD that he's psychic and receives all his information from the dead. Still not entirely sure how that happened."

Shawn shrugs wiggling his fingers beside his head with a shit-eating grin.

"It's a gift."

Spencer nodded thinking about the information he'd been given.

"Can I profile you?"

Shawn, from his place in the passenger seat, spread his hands, grinning.

"I'm an open book sweet cheeks." Spencer had a fleeting thought that he should never, ever allow Garcia to meet this man, before he turned his thoughts back to the man in the front seat. He seemed to simple but, really, he was a complex puzzle. One that Spencer was excited to unravel. He thought for a few seconds, before ordering his thoughts.

"At first, you seem like a dumb puppy. Bounding and full of energy, happy, always ready with a joke or compliment. While that is true, in part, it's more than that. You are always ready with a joke or compliment because you have issues stemming from lack of attention as a child, probably because your parents were too busy arguing with each other to give you the attention you needed. You're a child of divorce, which is why you flirt with everyone, so that no one will see you as more than a fling, because you're scared to grow up and turn into your parents. You acted out as a child to get that attention, but the only attention you received in return was likely scolding and reprimands, festering a dislike for rules and authority figures. You downplay your abilities because you are used to being utilized for them, probably by your father, as Gus mentioned. You act cocky and self confident so that no one can see past your veneer of attitude into your issues of self worth. You publish your works under pseudonyms and hide behind the visade of a psychic, because if someone has expectations for you, you're scared you'll never be able to meet them, once again stemming from how your father set impossibly high standards for you as a child that you were never able to live up to."

"Damn." Said Gus after a moment of silence. "He's got your number."

An order of tacos split between the three of them later, and the tension had melted from the car.

"Are we actually going to investigate now?" Spencer asked, growy antsy. The trip had taken them half an hour so far, and he was worried that this was just going to turn into a huge waste of time. Sure, Shawn was a genius, but he was also a goof. Before his thoughts could go so much further, Gus spoke from the front seat.

"Almost there, just around this corner." As Shawn said so, their destination came into sight. A few hundred feet in front of them a rather normal looking house sat. At least, it would have been normal, if not for the police tape criss-crossed all around it. He recognized it as the second victims house.

"Why are we here? No part of the crime happened here, and the police already went through the entire house."

"The police suck at gathering clues. They always miss the stuff that breaks the case." Shawn says. Gus, now putting the car into park, shakes his head.

"Lassie and Jules." he argues. Shawn sighs.

"Lassie and Jules?" Spencer asks, confused. Shawn nods.

"Two detectives down at the station. Probably the only competent policeman I've ever met who aren't dirty. Jules is a peach, she's smart and quick, but a little too reliant on the rules. Lassie is… prideful. But good at his job. He doesn't believe in the whole psychic schtick, and he's a little too trigger happy, but both of them are people I'm glad to have at my back in a pinch."

Gus looks over at Shawn in surprise, wondering why he hadn't taken the opportunity to tell Reid ridiculous things about the head detective. Shawn just shrugged at him, before walking ahead of them up to the porch steps. He jogged up them quickly, ducking under the tape into the house. Gus followed quickly behind, but Spencer hesitated in the doorway. Were they allowed to just traipse through crime scenes as they pleased? Spencer decided not to ask- plausible deniability and all that.

He stepped into the house, and looked around himself. They hadn't been provided with photos of the houses, because none of the crime had happened there. He was fairly sure JJ and Rossi had visited the home earlier in the day, so he looked around curiously, wondering if they had found anything worth note of the place.

The inside of the place was fairly normal. Clean, a little spartan, but comfortable. The walls were covered on photos, and a shelf near the the doorway on the opposite wall was laden with trophies and ribbons. Curiosity piqued, Spencer made his way over to scan the shelf. The trophies there spanned a number of years, but were all for generally the same thing: various theaters and choirs that the man must have been a member of. Spencer turned around to ask Shawn what he made of all the trophies and saw that the man was engrossed with the photos on they wall.

Curious, he made his own way over to him. He stood a step or so behind him, scanning the face in the photographs. The people in the photos were in makeup or costumes, standing on stages, bowing in front of curtains, or even mid-line. Based on the information he had just gleaned about the man through the various awards, the pictures made sense. What he didn't understand was Shawn's interest in the photographs. What was he seeing that Spencer was missing?

"Do you see something?" he finally asks.

"Almost." Shawn answers distractedly.

"Show me."

After another moment of staring, he waves Spencer to follow him over to a photo a few feet to their left. Once standing in front of it, he points out one figure in particular. Then he takes a few steps to the right, pointing at the same figure in another frame. This repeats, the same figure cropping up in a few more frames.

"You think that's our guy?"

"My gut says so," Shawn agrees. "And my gut is almost never wrong. But I don't have a name, motive, or background. And I have no idea how to go about getting it."

"I think I may be able to help with that." Spencer says, a tad reluctantly. Hadn't he just told himself not to let Garcia ever meet Shawn? Shawn raises an eyebrow at him, intrigued, and Gus exits the bedroom, coming to stand beside Shawn.

"I think it's time for you to meet my team."

Spencer was silent as they packed into the blueberry, gathering his thoughts. How did one even go about explaining his team. They were family, but they were…

He shook the thought from his head.

"Hotch, the team leader, is the textbook definition of what you would expect and FBI agent to look like. He acts just like you'd expect him to too. JJ is our media liaison, and she… she's always been wonderful to me."

Shawn stops himself from making a comment at the particular wording of that sentence. He already has a pretty good idea of who the BAU team is already, after a short google search. But the way Spencer talks about them is very indicative of what they're like to him. Shawn files all the information he's being given away for later.

"Prentiss and Morgan are more alike than they think. Morgan is the muscle, and Prentiss has a weird amount of knowledge about politics. They're both brilliant, but they-" Spencer wrinkles his nose and cuts himself off, which doesn't go unnoticed by Shawn. Spencer picks back up quickly, and his slip up may have gone unnoticed by anyone else.

"Rossi is Italian to his very bones, and old blood BAU. He's been doing BAU work since before we were even named the BAU. He's got experience the rest of us can only dream about, and countless cases under his belt. And Garcia-" Spencer's face broke into an actual smile at the mention of her name, which immediately placed her in Shawn's good books.

"If we had it my way, you two would never, ever meet, because you'll get along like a house fire and probably take over the government, or burn it down- haven't decided which yet. You're way too similar for my comfort, and with your combined skills I fear for anyone in your path."

Shawn grinned in a way that made Gus distinctly worried. He'd seen that same smile too many times to not be wary of it.

Despite that fact that Gus may not have Shawn's scary skills of perception, even he could tell something was up with the way Spencer talked about his team. It reminded him of the way Shawn used to talk about his dad to other people, when they were younger. In retrospect, Gus knew that it was the "I'm kinda wary of them but I really want them to like me, so I want to make you like them" voice, and he wasn't sure how he felt about Spencer adopting that tone to talk about his teammates. He'd have to talk to Shawn about it later, see what he thought of it all. For now, he tuned back in to hear Shawn describing, in somewhat alarming detail, how one would actually go about taking over the government.

Gus vowed not to take his eyes off of Shawn for even a moment around this Garcia.

Shawn waves to Lassiter and Juliet to follow them into the conference room, where Spencer told him that the BAU team was likely to be. He was walking quickly, Gus and Spencer racing after him, and Lassiter and Juliet had known him for long enough to know that this was his "I have a lead" walk. They hurried to follow.

Shawn burst into the room with all his usual grace and finesse, or lack thereof, and the agents in the room looked startled to see him and the four other people on his tail. Spencer, though, was also on a mission, and veered right around where the four members of the SBPD had gathered just inside the door to Garcia.

"Garcia," he asked, breathless from excitement. "Can you cross check all the names on the playbills, narrow it down to white males, and then show Shawn and I the results?" Garcia snorted.

" Can I?" she reached up to pat a manicured hand against his cheek, before beginning to type furiously on her laptop. She hummed to herself as she worked clicking and scrolling and typing- but it wasn't long before she had finished. She turned the screen around to them, and three faces appeared on the screen. One blonde man, one guy with a shaved head and- there.

Shawn, beside him, gasped, and brought his hands up to his temples.

"It's him!" he cried. He staggered forward, catching himself on the table in front of him. "I- I can see it, the knife, slashing downwards- NO!" his eyes popped open once more, and he stood up straight, his chest still heaving for breath.

"There-" he said, much more calmly. He pointed to the third man. Garcia quickly flipped the laptop back around to herself, bangles clacking against each other on her wrist. Her fingers flew across the keyboard.

"Ok- his name is Jared Mullens. Clean record, nothing too out of the ordinary… oh! Wait. Thyroid cancer recently, the cancer was easily removed, but sadly left some damage to his vocal chords, so he can't really do much more than whisper anymore. He's dropped out of every theater and choral group he used to be in." Garcia looked up at Shawn and Spencer, a proud look on her face, and was surprised to see the exact same considering look on each man's face.

"Jealousy…" muttered Spencer. Hotch opened his mouth, looking like he was going to ask what that meant, but Shawn suddenly spoke.

"They had what he couldn't have."

"Something he'd never be able to have again."

"They probably talked about it around him just a few too many times."

"He made them into messages."

"Caricatures of his past roles."

"He was telling us this whole time!"

The whole rapid fire exchange had taken less than a minute, but a look of understanding was dawning on the faces of those behind them. The BAU team, on the other hand, didn't seem to follow.

"Care to explain in a language the rest of us understand, Pretty Boy?"

Shawn internally frowned, unhappy that he had been right about how the others treated Spencer. Sure, no one outright said it, but he could feel the underlying dismissiveness in that tone, the fact that it didn't seem anything out of the ordinary to anyone else, and the way that it was just accepted that Spencer would be talked down to like that. Before the other man could say anything, Shawn rushed to reply. He raised his hands to his temple in his signature "time to explain the motive" move, and began.

"Mullens used to be heavily involved in theater productions and choirs, but recently underwent surgery for his thyroid cancer, leaving him unable to speak above a whisper. With his voice destroyed, his career in the arts was over- but other parts of his life are too tightly intertwined with the arts to fully remove himself. The victims were likely friends of his- friends who mentioned this role or that performance just one too many times around Mullens."

"Finally, he snapped." Spencer continued. "He made examples of them. Their faces are painted with heavy theater makeup, but their throats are slashed- voices ruined, much like his. The playbills stuffed down their throats are likely from whatever play they were in together. These men are both objects of Mullen's rage, and examples of how he feels."

The BAU team stares at them in stunned silence for a few moments, wondering who this man is that can figure out a crime with one look at the UnSub. Lassiter, however, is quick to recover.

"Address!" Lassiter barked. Garcia squeaked, and tapped at a few keys, before rattling off an address.

Shawn, Gus, and Spencer bolted, Lassiter and Jules a few steps behind them. Lassiter pulled out his keys, and, jolted out of their surprised stupor, the rest of the BAU team, with the exception of Garcia, jumped to follow.

Jared Mullens was exactly where they thought he would be. Morgan kicked down the door, charging in with the rest of the BAU two steps behind him. The man was caught unawares, and jumped off his couch, looking as if he was going to make a dash for the back door, before stopping when he saw Lassiter and Jules standing in the doorway, guns leveled at his chest. He reluctantly raised his hands in surrender, and Lassiter roughly wrapped his wrists in cuffs. The man whined at the painful tightness, but otherwise offered no protest as they read him his rights.

It was all over in a matter of minutes, Mullens locked in Buzz's squad car and on his way to the station as the house was searched.

The BAU, Lassiter, Jules, Shawn, and Gus all gathered outside, watching as Mullens was driven to the station.

"Well," Shawn said, "I'm feeling Chinese, how about the rest of you?" Gus, next to him, nodded in agreement. Spencer, Lassiter, and Jules all shrugged in acquiescence.

Chinese it was.

Food sitting in front of them, forgotten, Shawn and Spencer lean around the people between them to talk animatedly about- well, no one is quite sure what about because they're leaping from topic to topic so quickly that no one can follow. Gus, Garcia, Lassiter, and Juliet all watch on in amusement from their places beside the excited geniuses. They'd long ago given up trying to follow the conversation, instead enjoying their food and the bits of conversation they can follow.

Eventually, the two pause for breath, Spencer inhaling like he is about to go on a particularly long tangent, before Rossi interrupts him, looking bewildered. The BAU, once again with the exception of Garcia, share his expression.

"Who are you? No one can keep up with Reid." He directs his question at Shawn, and the rest of his team chuckles in agreement. From the periphery of his vision, he sees Spencers expression drop, for just a moment, before sealing off. Shawn feels a rush of anger in his gut at the two spots of color high on his cheeks.

"No," Shawn says, "you all just don't try hard enough." By the immediate stiffening of his three friends, he knows he has not done as good a job of hiding his anger as he would have liked. Rossi seems to notice too.

"Excuse me?" Morgan says angrily. Shawn transfers his cool gaze to the larger man, his mind already blazing through everything he knows about defending himself from someone twice his size.

"You heard me." he says evenly. When the dark haired woman to his left looked about to speak, he continued. "No. I'm right. You all treat Spencer as nothing more than a glorified google search bar. You treat him like a child, like he's young, inexperienced, weird, when he's been on this team longer than some of you. You only value him when he can provide you with obscure knowledge. You ask questions and make fun of him when he provides answers. He only feels as if he's of any worth to you when he has a use."

"You're wrong, Spence is like a little brother to-" the blonde woman, JJ his mind supplies, begins indignantly. Shawn cuts her off with a scoff, but before he can go any further, a white man in a generic looking suit interrupts him.

"Where do you come off accusing us of this? You have no idea what this team is like, or what our relationships are like with each other."

Shawn wiggles his fingers beside his head, but this time his smirk is cool and confident.

"Spirits talk, baby."

Morgan jumps up, furious, but Lassiter and Juliet are just as fast, and the click of their holsters releasing is unmistakable. The BAU freezes, Morgan half risen from his chair.

"I'd calm down, if I were you." Lassiter says. Everyone stays where they are for a few seconds, stiff. Eventually, Lassiter and Juliet gesture to Garcia and Spencer.

"C'mon you two, we'll give you a ride to your hotel." Juliet says kindly. The two rise quickly, following after as the two detectives lead them from the restaurant.

Shawn, still seated, stares at Morgan until the man sits himself back down. All eyes are on him as he sets his hands gently on the table, steepling his fingers.

"I've got a lot of things I could say to all of you. Spencer didn't tell me much, but the spirits around the lot of you are very talkative." JJ looks as if she wants to say something, but Shawn raises a hand, effectively silencing her.

"No. Now is my time to talk, and your time to listen. Spencer is a genius. I know this. You know this. He could be an entire BAU team by himself, he doesn't need all of you to solve anything. His mind is leagues ahead of all of yours combined. But instead, he holds himself back and tries to boil his thoughts down to something you can stomach- because he wants you to like him. Intentional or not, you've alienated him from your ranks. And if you don't start treating him more like a human- and a member of your team - I will know about it, and you will not be happy with the consequences."

"Are you threatening us?" the dark haired one asks. Shawn gives her his best grin- the sharp, terrifying on that Gus said glows in a dark room.

"Am I?"

He scoots his chair back from the table, standing. Gus, beside him still, does the same. Together, they turn their backs on the stunned agents and make their way towards the blueberry.

"Damn," Gus says, a look of awe on his face. Shawn shrugs.

"They deserved it." 

"Oh, hell yeah." He agrees.

Then, "Do you think we could convince Spencer to join Psych? I think that's the fastest we ever solved a case. Garcia, too."

The next day, Spencer squishes with Shawn and Gus in the back of Lassiter's Crown Victoria to get driven to the airport. Juliet and Lassiter are in the front seat, and Spencer is glad to both get a few more minutes with the dynamic duo, and to avoid the awkward tension of having to see his team again. Despite the canyon that seems to have grown between them overnight, Spencer is glad that Shawn said what he did. He knew it was true, and he also knew that he'd never have the courage to say any of it himself, because it may have cost him whatever relationship he did have with them. Still, it was nice to know that someone had his back, for once. It was an unfamiliar feeling, but not an unwelcome one.

Eventually, they made it to the airport. Standing before the plane, bags at his feet, he prepared to say his goodbyes to the residents of Santa Barbara. Lassiter stuck his hand out for a firm handshake, and for once in his life Spencer accepted it without any hesitation. Juliet offered him a soft smile, squeezing his arm. Gus raised a fist at him, and Spencer returned the fist bump happily. Shawn stepped up to him, and from god-knows-where, pulled a book out. He offered Spencer a smile, and held the book out to him. Spencer took it, and cracked open the cover. Inside, Shawn's face smiled at him from the jacket cover, and his signature was scrawled across the inside cover.

Spencer cracked a smile, before looking back to his new friend. Surprising even himself, he leapt forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Shawn.

" Thank you." he whispered, pushing as much emotion as he could into those two words. He knew Shawn would understand what he meant- that he was thanking him for sticking up for him when no one else ever had before, thanking him for understanding him in a way no one else had before. As he pulled away, Shawn smiled at him in a way that seemed to tell him that he understood.

"Off you go, Doc, wouldn't wanna make that lovely team of yours think that we're kidnapping you. Although…"

" No, Shawn, for the absolute last time, we are not kidnapping Spencer. How many times have I told you-"

As the two began to bicker behind him, Spencer made his way into the jet. His smile slowly grew bitter as he walked through the isles where his team sat, all of whom were frowning. He ignored the obvious displeasure in their demeanors as he found his place in the back of the plane, next to Garcia.

Settling in, he leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. Just as he felt the plane begin to take off, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Prying open his eyes, he fished the device from his pocket. He felt confused at the unknown number, but opened the screen to read the message anyways.

my offer to kidnap u still stands

His phone buzzed again as two more messages came in.

gus says the nsa is gonna arrest me if i keep sayin stuff like that

anyways- it really isnt that hard to be a pretend psychic, u've got enough childhood trauma that i could prob giv u a crash course and u could b ready to go in a day or 2. lemme know what u think

-ss

Spencer suppresses a snort at the messages, and saves the contact in his phone.


End file.
